


it's who you're listening with

by m_number24



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, bartender mikey, jere sings, pining fr a distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_number24/pseuds/m_number24
Summary: Michael wasn't sure if he was in love but maybe it was a close feeling.It was like this every time.





	it's who you're listening with

**Author's Note:**

> watch me procrastinate
> 
> i've been listening to cecily smith non-stop, y'all should to
> 
> if i were michael and i heard jeremy sing, i'd be in love too

Michael worked part-time as a bartender in this small lounge a few blocks from his dormitory. It wasn't because he was super broke, though. Sure, having extra money was cool but if he were being honest, he worked in that small, old, teeny-tiny lounge for the heck of it.

Unlike the other bars near campus, this was quiet and had a home-y ambiance. The owner, Mrs. Valentine, was a nice, soft-looking lady whose personality was the complete opposite. She was also one of his close friends' mom and Michael couldn't help but chuckle every time he would see the two's resemblance.

They needed a few extra hands during the weekends as the school year had started and when Michael had heard of this from Chloe, he volunteered without thought. To this day, he had never regretted such decision and being there every evening of his weekends were considered as rewards of a hard week's work.

He loved how the whole place smelled of oak and even through glasses of alcohol, it never got overpowered. He loved being able to watch and meet the customers talking lightly to each other, sometimes not talking at all, and Michael highly appreciated how comfortable silence was accepted in such environment. There were rarely any fights nor any chaos happening, and if it were to occur, Mrs. Valentine was up and at 'em before shit got worse.

He loved serving and observing how people had stared at their drinks, some at ease, some very sad. Some would stare at the counter with troubled expressions. Michael have had instances where he had posed as counselors to some.

What he loved the most, though, was the fact that the place had an open mic and each night he was there, he would be exposed to several, unique voices. He would hear several unfamiliar songs and his chest would be filled with this warmth he'd willingly drown in. Each song he would hear—original, pop, sad, happy— he'd take in whole, letting himself bask in the different ways they're being sung.

He had cried in some performances, and there were times where he couldn't help but laugh throughout. There were moments where he would smile at the soft, serene voices, and watch sympathetically at those he knew we hurting. He would give free drinks at those he knew needed it. He would cheer and clap loudly at those he knew deserved it. But there were times he would stay quiet at those he knew needed that comfortable silence, joining along with the crowd's soft applauds instead.

 

 

At the last strum of the chord of the current performer, Michael let himself turn from counter he was wiping to set his focus on the stage.

 Footsteps were heard from the last singer's exit and in a few, light steps were heard again, now from the new performer, settling on stage. 

 

Michael let himself stare and smile to himself.

 

He already knew he loved his job to the fullest but every time the clock would strike 8:30, every Saturday evening, Michael couldn't help but love where he was even more.

 

Because it was 8:30 in the evening, on a nice Saturday night, and Michael was allowed to be engulfed with the brightest, blue eyes the universe had ever seen.

Because shivers ran through his spine as he watched nylon strings get plucked, the whole place getting filled with such soft-sounding notes until the ukulele was all tuned.

Because there was this _boy_ , a shy smile plastered on his pale face, and whose voice was the softest, crispest voice one could ever hear.

Because there was this beautiful boy, and he was the most amazing thing Michael's ever seen.

 

 

"H-Hi there. I'm Jeremy Heere a-and this is called [Cecily Smith by Will Connolly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVkq9bnq4U8).”

 

 

Michael wasn't sure if he was in love but maybe it was a close feeling.

 It was like this every time.

 

When the boy had opened his mouth and let his voice flow, the bartender closed his eyes and listened. He felt his chest flutter, and his mind slowly drained away all his random thoughts that usually scream through him during the day.

 

Soon, there was nothing but him, the boy, the world, the song. There was nothing but the strums, the plucks, the hums and it was calm.

 

" _She laughed and said, 'Well, lucky for you, you're with Cecily Smith_ ," A strum.

 

Michael opened his eyes, entranced.

 

" _Who cares what you are listening to, it's who you're listening with._ " Then back to the plucking.

 

 

* * *

  

"Hit me up with some Jack, please."

 

It was halfway through the song and that got Michael blinking, turning to the stranger's voice. He greeted him a good evening and smiled, walking his way to the shelves, grabbing a glass and the bottle.

 As he finished pouring, he slid the man the glass before turning his view back to the singer.

 

Soon enough, the song ended and Michael swallowed down any sad feeling as he watched the boy exit the stage. He went back to wiping the counter, not being able to keep himself from letting out a soft sigh.

 

"Man, you've got it bad."

 

The bartender was startled at that and he turned to find the customer who had ordered the Jack from a while ago, giving him a sympathetic look. Michael gave out a huff, "Sorta."

 The man hummed and took a sip from his glass and it was quiet again.

 

One day, he'll get to talk to him.

One day, maybe.

Someday, hopefully.

 

He shrugged. As of right now, though, he was okay with the thought of next Saturday.

  

Michael went back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you have an ok evening, don't forget to eat and sleep


End file.
